Posted by red on May 8th, 2008 in Kink, Lust
We are outside and my skin is cooling in the timid morning air, metaphoric steam rising from burning bruises on my breasts. This part of town if awfully quiet at such a wee small hour in the morning; just the thud-clack-thud-click of the occasional car on the nearby bridge.
There’s a lull in the conversation and so he takes my hand and leads me inside; through doors punctuating strong grey walls that hold up high and proud ceilings. Our footsteps echo up the walls, restrained clatter resonating through the wide open spaces making up the building.
“Watch your step.” He says, nudging me into room off to the side. Its the washroom – the Men’s one at that. I know this because there are two urinals mounted on one wall.
In a flash, I am pushed up against the wall of the stall. He’s on me – lips, fingers, elbows, boots – and he’s undoing my calm swiftly and expertly. I push back, enjoying the corresponding surge in the force applied onto me. I sigh and moan as my flesh valiantly resists the pressing fingers, earning red patches that will later develop into deep purple bruises. I start to giggle, even though nothing is really all that funny.
Slam! I am now up against the wall, beside the urinals. I glance down and see that the one nearest is not exactly fresh and shiny. It’s gross - for sure - but that doesn’t explain the chill running down my spine, making my toes clench in curious anticipation. His hands release my jeans, sending them tumbling down to the ground, spinning me in the process and slamming me again into the wall.
In this position he consults with me – weaving sweet images of filth and depravity quietly in my ear. His body presses onto mine, ensuring my cheek is smashed against the wall, ensuring my flesh is yielding beneath his touch. His hands have brushed aside my panties by now – throwing them as well to my ankles. His fingers find my labia, grasping and pulling sharply, purposefully and sustained. My knees threaten to buckle - maybe they even do. It doesn’t matter anyways, I’m not going anywhere while pinned against this wall.
He spins me again, slamming my back up against the wall. His eyes hit mine and I catch the telltale shine of his smile. He pushes into me with one hand while he stops to look me up and down. Squinting he pulls me to the side slightly, slamming me again into the wall while centering me above that urinal. His hand travels to my neck, fingers spanning across it with ease and pressing lightly, holding me upright and in place. He smiles a determined smile and lets his eyes lock onto mine as he undoes the buttons of his fly.
Leaning into me, he finds my hand and guides it to his cock, gently squeezing my fingers with his before moving his hand away to steady himself against the wall. His face moves close to mine as he leans in and breathes heavily in my ear. And then there’s this pause – he holds his breath for a moment and I subconsciously hold mine. The silence cuts through the room like a hot knife, filling the air with pregnant tension and anticipation.
He’s so warm to my fingers and I feel this throb. Not a pulsing throb, but a burst – like a wave the never ends. The silence is punctuated all of a sudden by the splat-clack-spat-clack of his piss hitting the cake in the urinal. I feel the coldness of that urinal pressing up against the back of my thighs in a stark contrast to the lukewarm droplets splashing back from his stream. In my ear, he lets his breath go in a long, slow, clattery sigh. His exhale seems to catch, over and over again, and his inhale happens sharply and with a moan.
Huh-huh-huh-huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh – ffffffffffff-ooooooooooohhhhhhh.
The sound of relief, I suppose you could say.
